


Is John Pregnant Yet?

by AlphaStarr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Men trying to get pregnant, Mpreg, Smut, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaStarr/pseuds/AlphaStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows very well that, no matter how much he wants a kid, he can't actually conceive.<br/>If only he could get <i>Dave</i> to understand that...</p>
<p>Written for user isjohnpregnantyet on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 13

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote a fanfic about john and dave trying to have a baby for this awesome blog, [isjohnpregnantyet](isjohnpregnantyet.tumblr.com). it is pretty much the greatest blog that follows the format "day #, ____ is/am/are still not _____", and they are cute.
> 
> Originally posted on my Tumblr at: http://alpha-starr.tumblr.com/post/30779457568/i-wrote-a-fanfic-about-john-and-dave-trying-to

You are John Egbert, and as ridiculous as it sounds, you are trying to get pregnant.

No, you are not crazy; you are perfectly aware that you are male and therefore lack the necessary anatomy required for this task. It's your husband who's the crazy one, it's him. Dave Strider is dead set on having children with you, and (much to your chagrin) remains purposefully ignorant of the impossibility. You sigh as you flop onto your bed, preparing for your triweekly attempt at conception.

Dave helps you unbutton your shirt and presses kisses upon every inch of newly-revealed skin. You sigh a little at the warmth of his hands and lips. His hands near the end of your shirt and his lips pause at your waist, whispering a litany of incomprehensible words to your lower midriff. You don't know what good talking to your (nonexistant) uterus is supposed to do, but Dave murmurs to it, only pausing to kiss your belly in a way that sends shivers across your skin.

He doesn't stop, much to your frustration. You are getting kind of horny from the way Dave keeps telling your belly how he's gonna fill it up with his cum, so it'd better get ready to carry his child.

This is getting to be ridiculous. There isn't even anything there, geez! Because you are totally male and definitely don't have a uterus. You slide a hand into his hair and roughly fist it, getting impatient. He ceases his babbling and gives you a look that very clearly says, “what the fuck?”

“Can we please get on with it?” you complain, shifting your hips in discomfort. “Doing that isn't going to help, Dave!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, John, have some patience here,” you feel Dave's smirk against your skin. “I know you can't wait to have some Strider dick in you, but I know what I'm doing. Don't worry about a thing, I'll take care of you soon.”

He punctuates this with another kiss and rubs the part of your stomach right above your ovaries (or where they would be if you had any). You fight the urge to moan in comfort--shut up, everyone loves a good belly rub-- and fail epically. Dave's hands are warm and callused on your bare skin and you are pretty sure your erection is rising up to poke Dave in the face.

His hands still for a minute, giving him ample time to unbutton your pants with his teeth and pull the zipper open, leaving only the thin layer of your boxers between your cock and the vastness of your bedroom. You shudder a little bit from the cooling sensation.

His hands resume their action as he begins to mouth at the front of your boxers, his weight unfortunately holding your hips down (with good reason; you would rather not crash your crotch into his teeth again).

His shades press insistently into your hips and you reach your fingers towards his face to pull them off, as they're pointy and uncomfortable against soft flesh. You lay them by your own on the nightstand before returning your hands to Dave's hair as he pulls down your boxers.

His hands slide off your midriff, and you feel cold for a second before Dave envelops you in the wet heat of his mouth, taking in almost all of your still-rising cock. A perfect distraction for the canola-oil-slicked finger that he tries to sneak up your ass (he still can't pull one over the pranking MASTER).

You'd switched over from regular lube a long time ago, at Dave's insistence. Apparently, some lubricants could actually hinder your attempts to get pregnant. And he couldn't have that. You'd roll your eyes at that thought if your eyes weren't already too busy rolling into the back of your head.

“Oh, yes,” you moan, arching your back into Dave's crooked finger. It's located that spot, the one that makes you see stars. “Oh, Dave, yesssss.”

He flexes the tip of his index against it again before withdrawing and returning, this time with two digits. They flex and stretch your passage, though you're still pretty loose from the day before yesterday.

Dave's eyes close for but a few seconds as he gives your dick a long, hard suck before releasing it from his mouth, a thin line of saliva connecting your fully-sprung erection and his lips. He removes his fingers from your ass, too, and you feel horribly empty as Dave pauses to pull himself out of his sweatpants and slick up his cock.

You watch him with a hungry expression, one of half irritation and half starvation as he lines himself up to your entrance. (He's smirking, that bastard.) You groan in annoyed relief as he finally slides into you, pressing in from a missionary position. Your legs wrap around his lower back, just enough to keep him from suddenly backing out of this to tease you and, as an extra precaution, you swing your arms around his neck. He doesn't move for a while, and you know he's doing it just to piss you off.

“Dammit, Dave, just move already,” you grumble in his general direction. He snickers childishly at you; you stick your tongue out in reply.

You're surprised when he takes your tongue into his mouth, clumsily caressing it with his own. He still kind of tastes like your dick, but also something that's distinctly Dave. His hips begin to gyrate, swirling and pulling back and pressing in and grinding his hips against yours before repeating the whole process over again.

Sometimes he brushes your prostate, sometimes he doesn't-- you try to talk him through it with heavy gasps of, “Ah! Left, hn, no, go back,” almost into Dave's mouth. He (finally) finds it, but he's a huge douche and starts missing it on purpose, now that he's re-familiarized himself with its location.

Some lousy pregnancy website said that simultaneous or nearly-simultaneous orgasm optimized chances for conception, and guess what Dave decided had to happen every time? Not that you're complaining. Just thinking about it actually kind of gets you hot. He brushes it again, just to give you a taste of pleasure, and you arch into him with a quiet groan.

He's getting closer, you can tell, when he grabs your dick and begins jerking you off (in perfect time, as always). You're breathing heavily, but you aren't breathless quite yet-- you're going to make Dave lose control of his aspect first, this time. You swear it to yourself as he picks up the pace for both hand and hips. Your blunt nails anchor you to his back while your buttocks slap back against his balls.

“Shit, fuck, John!” he moans, swiping his thumb over the tip of your cock.

Then he kisses you again, and once more, wins your little competition. You are left winded by his impassioned kiss; he still maintains that sense of rhythm, though he's upped the tempo.

He changes course just a little to aim for your prostate and _oh_. You bite down on your lip and your back arches as you meet him, thrust for thrust, making muffled noises that sound suspiciously like whimpering. He lifts your hips into his lap, gripping them almost tightly enough to bruise, and goes wild.

The hand on your waist tightens minutely as the one on your dick loses rhythm. His cock presses against your prostate every thrust now, each motion powerful and deep. Your moans rise together in a harmony of “OhgodDavepleasefuckyes” and “ShitfuckJohnI'msofuckingclose” as he slams into you one last time and buries his seed deep in your body, still grinding all the way through. You explode from an overload of pleasure but half a second later, your ass convulsing and milking him of his semen.

You pant heavily, your own cum spewed gracelessly across your chest, as Dave pulls out and rests your sore hips on a pillow, tilting your body so that you can feel his cum sliding deeper into you, an oddly satisfying feeling. He cleans the both of you (thank goodness for Wet Wipes) and finally getting in bed with you to cuddle a bit before going to sleep.

His hand rests on your stomach, and you worry-- if he expects you to have his kid, will he be disappointed when he realizes you can't? You want a kid with Dave, you really do. You just don't want to get your hopes up that you'll conceive; you know it's impossible. You fall asleep, knowing just what Dave will write on that dumb blog of his tomorrow:

Day thirteen; John is still not pregnant.


	2. Day 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? More pwp DaveJohn Porn? Well, John still isn't pregnant, so...
> 
> Orignal post: http://alpha-starr.tumblr.com/post/31379778036/tired-blah-taking-a-brief-break-from-my

You are John Egbert and you are exceptionally horny.

Not like "hump the air in front of you" horny, but significantly horny enough to want to go home and get banged into the nearest flat surface you can find. It's not as if the sex this morning wasn't awesome, because oh man, was sex this morning _ever_ awesome. You can still feel the vacancy in you from when he fucked you open no more than eight hours ago.

The problem is that you can still feel the vacancy from when he fucked you open no more than eight hours ago. You clench your (unfortunately empty) ass and look at the clock, idly doing accounting until your shift is over.

Time is on your side today (not that it isn't every day) and you finally leave your place of occupation to run out into the sidewalk where Dave is already waiting for you in the car, a soccer-mom SUV that you can only guess the implications of. You go out to eat on Tuesday nights or else order in food, and you can tell from the printout coupons rolled up in the cupholder that you are doing the latter.

"Hey, babe," the corner of Dave's mouth quirks upwards slightly. "What's up?"

You swing yourself into the shotgun seat and grin at him, "Not much, just the usual! I missed you a lot."

His eyebrow quirks at you, and you fight the urge to giggle at the innuendo. His shoulders relax and he leans in to kiss you, a gesture that you return readily.

"I missed you, too," he answers you, practically whispering into your kiss and pecking your lips practically between every word.

Your smile broadens as he does, and you squirm in your seat, "So, what're we doing tonight?"

"Getting dinner, maybe watching a movie," he shrugs. His shades slide down his nose just a little bit and he winks at you, "Getting you pregnant. Not necessarily in that order."

"Mmmmm," you press your lips to his again, kissing languidly and affectionately. When your mouths separate at last, you answer, "Sounds good."

You are pretty certain that you break at least three traffic laws on your way home (namely, running a red light, speeding, and not signaling left). You aren't particularly worried about any of that; Dave is actually really good at avoiding accidents. He has some ridiculously fast reaction rate.

You make it home in record time, and Dave carries you in bridal-style, like a knight rescuing a princess, all the way up to your room on the second floor. Your arms are still wrapped around his neck when he lays you on the bed; you use this to your advantage by pulling him down on top of you.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he curses quietly, pushing his body off yours and dropping his poking shades on the nightstand. "Be careful there, man, you could get hurt doing that. You aren't bruised or anything from me falling on you, right?"

You sigh and roll your eyes at him, taking his face into your hands and squooshing it between your palms, "I am perfectly okay. That did not hurt, not even in the slightest." You wink at him, "If you want to check my body for bruises, you're more than welcome, though."

"Yeah," Dave practically trembles, and you kind of regret saying that now. But that's the past and you can't undo it.

You begin to unbutton your shirt, and Dave strips it off you completely, not even pausing to talk to your belly in hopes of convincing it to suddenly sprout a uterus. His gentle hands begin searching your skin for tender, mottled spots, and you can hear his sigh of relief when he finds none, save for a large hickey on your neck from yesterday. He repeats the process with your legs, kissing your thighs as they slowly reveal themselves, all the way down to where they become knees.

"See?" you smile at him, playfully carding your fingers through his hair. "Perfectly okay."

"Yeah, okay," he answers, nuzzling your collar lightly. His hair tickles and you laugh just a little bit.

His face slides down your chest to rest on your stomach, where he kisses the bare flesh and begins to whisper to your midriff-- one hand hooked into the edge of your lacy red panties by the thumb, the other softly stroking your side. He mutters a litany of phrases, promising to fertilize your sweet ass and knock you up real good. It's unbelievably hot.

Your erection begins to rise, stretching the elastic, lacy cloth. The tenting pulls the scant cloth towards the front, and the back side begins to ride up your crack in a way that would bother you normally, but only serves to arouse you now. You let out a groan of complaint, which does not go unheard.

Dave lifts his face off your belly and presses it to yours instead, intimately brushing cheek-to-cheek before connecting your lips. His hands leave your waist and hips respectively to come up and rub where you'd have a uterus and ovaries, were you female. You moan practically into his mouth as his warm, callused hands pet and stroke your midsection until you melt completely, practically a disoriented mess of gelatin beneath Dave's body.

Shut up, you really, really love belly rubs, ok?

Dave's mouth parts from yours to lay a series of love bites along your jaw, trailing down your neck back to the fading hickey, which Dave takes great care to re-darken. You moan openly and clutch his shoulders against you tightly, the very tips digging in to form relatively light, crescent-shaped indents.

One of his hands leaves your belly hook under your panties (now dampened with your precum) and slide them halfway down your legs; you kick them off the rest of the way before Dave's fingers enclose around your erection and stroke.

You let out a high pitched whine, "Daaaaaaaave!"

"Yeah?" you can hear the smirk in his voice as he stops sucking on your neck.

"I want you," you punctuate this with a roll of your hips. "Please?"

"Anything for you, babe," he chuckles just a little, definitely not the most common of occurrences. He undoes his pants and reveals his hard, glistening cock that, you know from experience, fills you up perfectly.

His fingers fumble for the canola oil by your bedside and anoint your already-loose entrance with the stuff; your asshole is still gaping from your morning excursion. He uses what's left to lubricate his own dick, flushed red and so, so hot even in just his hand, ready to penetrate you...

You grab his wrist, stopping his stroking motions. He glances at you quizzically until you push him to the sheets and begin to seat yourself on his cock, your hands resting against his chest for balance. He quickly catches on to what you're trying to do, and grabs your hips to keep you steady as you sink downwards, taking his dick into your starving passage, inch by glorious inch.

"John," Dave pants, breathless from the effort to restrain himself from plunging himself into you too soon, too quickly, too hard. "Fuck, John, please..."

When your buttocks meet his thighs and you can feel his balls practically against your crack, you let out a deep, shuddering moan. It's just so hot.

Dave takes this as the cue to start gently rocking his hips up into yours, swiveling just this way and that, aiming for the node that makes you feel like you're flying, and _oh_. He's so, so good.

You rock back against him, following his rhythm for now. You still have yet to make him lose his sense of time before you become breathless, but you'll make it happen soon, one way or another.

He increases the magnitude of each thrust, fucking you harder, deeper, making your ass clench around his dick. He's close to where your prostate is; he's brushing against it every now and then and--

"Ah! It's there, it's there," you hurriedly gasp, and Dave makes an effort to at least touch it every stroke. "Oh, god, yes!"

Your dripping cock splatters its fluids onto Dave's chest in tiny, miniature bursts of precome with every bounce. Your hands glide up to his shoulders and you scratch him, hard, down his forearms in an attempt to maintain control. You fail, your breath hitching as Dave hits your prostate head-on, making him the victor of your little contest (again).

The staccato of flesh on flesh as he thrusts into you full-swing only heightens your pleasure, and you can refrain from it no longer-- trusting Dave to hold you up, you use one of your hands to jerk yourself, pulling against the flesh of your dick and smearing your fluids from tip to base as you stroke yourself to the edge. You moan wantonly, like your entire vocabulary is made of pleas for "Dave" and "more".

Dave's groans of, "fuck, god, John, fucking shit, you're tight" blur into "JohnJohnJohnfuckIloveyouohgod _John_ " as his vision is overwhelmed by the sight of you jerking yourself off while riding his cock. It is evidently the last straw as he spills his hot, wet semen into you, planting his seed deep into your ass.

That's it for you. You blow your load, squirting cum all over Dave's chest, your ass tightening and convulsing as if trying to pull Dave's seed into your body. Your back arches as you reach orgasm, subconsciously trying to provide the optimal angle for taking everything Dave's got to offer.

With a final, satisfied moan, you collapse on Dave's chest and take a few heaving breaths as Dave's arms come around you and he pants hotly into your ear. It's another couple minutes before he has the energy to move enough to get his flaccid dick out of you, removing it with a wet pop. You groan quietly into Dave's shoulder.

"Shhh, you all right?" one of Dave's hands rub your back, concern overpowering fatigue in his voice.

"It's coming out," you pant, feeling cum leak out of your entrance. "Just feels weird, 's all."

Dave pulls a package of Wet Wipes from behind your pillow and wipes your crack, cleaning it of extraneous substance.

"Better?" he asks, rolling you off to the side so he can get a scrub or two at your front.

"Yeah," you breathe back, reaching out for a wipe yourself to mop up the mess you'd made on Dave's abdomen. Pretty soon, you're as done as you're going to get, and he spoons you in bed as you drift in and out of sleep. The kisses on the back of your neck are reassuring, and you sink into dreams surrounded by warmth.

You are assured of Dave's love for you, regardless of whether or not you will actually carry his child. His hand rests on your wombless midriff, which is heavy with love instead of with child. You adore your dork of a husband, even if you know that tomorrow, he will write on his blog:

Day #22, John is still not pregnant.


End file.
